


Lighthouse

by Romanshome



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Humor, Childhood Trauma, Eating Disorders, F/M, Foster Care, Summer Romance, The Burrow (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:02:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29319840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romanshome/pseuds/Romanshome
Summary: Clementine "Cleo" Everglade is forced to move in with the Weasleys during the summer-becoming their foster sister. She is given an entire year to decide whether or not to stay there, since she'll be eighteen by then. And she's almost certain that she'll choose the latter. She always rolled better individually.That is, until a specific red-headed prankster had to go and ruin the entire thing.[Contains Eating Disorder and Mature Scenes]
Relationships: Fred Weasley/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 94





	1. ?

This is it. My first Fred fanfic. And of course, the plot will be a slow burn—but there will be lots of unresolved tension. If you've read my previous books, you know that I do enjoy writing some spice, but there are some warnings. First off, the smut scenes will contain the following:

Degradation.

Dirty Talk.

Exhibitionism.

Extreme Dominant/Sub—roles will be switched sometimes obviously.

Humiliation.

Impact Play.

If you are uncomfortable with the previous words mentioned, do not worry! I will include a warning prior to each chapter that will alert you when you can skip it.

Now, as for the main character....I have to establish some things. I will be not making a cast for this book. The main oc will be described down to a T in the book, and you can then imagine what she looks like. I'm going to be trying something different so we will see how this goes.

Once again, please do not rush me for updates. It flatters me that you all are eager for other books—or this one—but I am one person. I am not a machine. I have a life that I tend to outside Wattpad as well. When I am in the mood, I write. And it depends which story I'm in the mindset to write at the moment. Do not comment about ANY other books on this specific one, even if they are mine. Only comment about this book.

Last but certainly not least, this book  
will have a toxic relationship at first. The reader is a very difficult person due to her background, which you will understand later on. BARE WITH ME. She will seem like a complete bitch at first, but she has reasons. Mentions of abuse and eating disorders will be brought up as well.

This takes place in the year of Order of the Phoenix.

Thank you for you time.


	2. “Welcome Home”

"You have got to be kidding me."

Cleo's bottom was flushed against the office chair of Albus Dumbledore's office, which was slightly uncomfortable due to the lack of cushion that was embedded into the furniture. The sickly green walls that resembled a forestry green cube closed in around her, which added on to the nauseous feeling welling up in her abdomen. Her brown hues were wide with both annoyance and shock, but it seemed that annoyance was slowly rising far past up the scale.

Dumbledore, indeed—held a serious look. Pushing his glasses up his nose, he proceeded to fold his hands over one another onto his bulky, wide platformed desk.

"This is how fostering works in the Wizarding World, Ms. Everglade," he explained with a thin voice, which was quite shaky due to his old age. His hooded eyes peered down at her with a certain softened, as if the way he morphed his face was going to wipe away the pure anger creeping onto hers. "You are obligated to stay with a family until you reach the legal age of eighteen. And the Weasley's have the perfect environment for you to—urm...heal from your past—"

Her eyes narrowed. "I don't need healing. I'm not broken, Professor. I was fine with living my Aunt prior to this entire thing."

At her words, he inhaled sharply. His gaze flickered down to her wrist. Spikes of self—consciousness swept over her as she tugged down the black, silky material of the sleeve connected to her robe, cheeks burning.

His eyes then glided back up to her stormy ones.

"You cannot give yourself bruises, Ms. Everglade. The truth is—your aunt....neglected you. And foster homes are required by law to bring in the neglected children of—"

"Stop using that word. I don't—like it," she spoke up quietly, but her words were as sharp as a knife. Her gaze fell down to the floor, fingers curling around the beams that were lodged into the side of the chair. Her knuckles were white.

Dumbledore's brows snapped together.

"Negl—?"

"Yes. That word," she huffed.

She heard him swallow thickly before continuing.

"Very well then. My apologies. In the end, you do not have a choice in the matter. You are a minor. Ms. Weasley has been searching for a young girl to welcome into the family due to her lack of..enthusiasm to having only one daughter while obtaining six sons. This—could help you, Ms. Everglade. Don't take this as a punishment."

She remained silent, biting her tongue. He wouldn't listen to her anyways. She was dreading this. How could she not take this as a punishment? It literally was one. She didn't even like the Weasleys. They were always overly cheery and happy for no fucking reason. But Cleo knew the real reason as to why she loathed them.

And it was that she didn't actually hate them.

She envied them.

Her family was fucked. Too complicated to explain. But theirs was simple and sickening. They had two functional parents that cared for their children. Cleo never had that. And it was simply too late. She was seventeen—she didn't need a family anymore.

Dumbledore's gravely voice knocked her out of her own thoughts. "There will be several rules established."

Great. Now there's rules. Fuck her with a chainsaw.

"The first one is blantly obvious. No relationships. Keep everything appropriate."

Cleo held back her scoff. Easy. Regarding the first rule, she would never fall for any of the Weasleys.

She only knew of five out of the seven total.

Percy Weasley. Common hobknocker. He always had a stick shoved up his ass—and appeared to be better than everyone else. His face bugged Cleo for some reason, resembling a puppy pug. His voice was nasaly yet deep, which gave her a straining headache. She recalled the one time where he gave her a detention for returning her library books. And it wasn't even because she had given them late—

It was because she didn't tie her shoe.

Her own fucking shoe.

"It's a safety hazard to the people around you," he told her matter—of—factly, ripping off the yellow detention slip before sauntering away.

She got her revenge though. While walking in the halls, she spotted Percy scolding a younger Gryffindor with glossy eyes and red cheeks. Annoyed with his antics, her lips stretched into a smirk as her eyes sparkled with an idea. Pulling out her wand from her robe, she swished together the shoe laces on his shoes—tying them together. Quickly retreating behind a wall, she hid as she waited a few moments. It played out perfectly. He aimed to walk  
away, but he ended up tripping, right when a student before him was holding a pie in their hands.

His face was covered in cherry paste as laughs filled the halls.

She was responsible for his nickname Pie Face Percy that was given to him for the rest of the year. One of her greatest accomplishments.

Moving onto Ginny Weasley.

She actually didn't have an opinion on her. She hung around the three stooches, Hermione Granger —an insufferable know it all— Ron Weasley, who she'll get to in a minute, and Harry Potter. The chosen one. Now although she didn't know of Ginny herself that much, she figured she was just as perfect and irritable as the rest of the Weasleys.

But Cleo had to admit...she had amazing hair.

But that's where the liking ended.

Ron Weasley.

The boy eats. Every time Cleo glanced at him, he was shoving some kind of foot down his throat. Which made her uncomfortable, since she—well....didn't eat. Plain and simple. He was also heavily dense. In class, whenever Professor Snape would call on him, he would mumble jumbled up nonsense that made satisfaction rise within Cleo. He was stupid and was only good for stuffing his face. He did have nice eyes though, but they couldn't overpass the hatred she felt for the boy.

Lastly, the twins. There was George.

He was much more quiet than his brother, Fred. He usually just followed along to what he did—like a lost puppy. He was most definitely the favorite one of hers our of them two—if that was possible. She didn't like either one of them, but he was certainly not a pain in the ass. He kept more to himself, when he wasn't playing pranks alongside his brother. He was kind to Cleo when they were forced to interact in class—which she hated. He only pitied her. Everyone did.

And Fred Weasley.

Her least favorite Weasley of all.

He was an imbecile. Cocky. Arrogant. Loud. Obnoxious. Annoyingly witty. Filled with comebacks. Him and Cleo have had numerous horrible interactions during her time at Hogwarts. Their first of many was when they were paired together in Charms class during second year. He kept cracking jokes that made Cleo's eyes roll into the back of her head—because they weren't even funny. They were over line cringey and heart wrenching. And when she told him that, his face had fallen.

"You're not funny, Weasley. Maybe you should expand the never ending hours you spend scowering the internet for jokes to make girls like me. But you're still stuck with that face, so it's a lost cause. Give up."

He appeared extremely saddened by her words. After that, he began being nasty towards her. The jokes he made were cruel and heartless when it came to her. When they passed in the halls, he made sure to send her the dirtiest of looks—and she of course returned them. She liked that she had gotten under his skin. For the rest of the years, he made sure trying his best to make Cleo's life a living hell—and vice versa. His pranks were weak.

Ink on her robes?

"There's a thing called a cleaning charm, dumbass."

He glared at her in defeat.

Hot sauce in her drink?

She was used to the burning taste in her mouth. Her aunt had used one of her punishments to pour pepper into Cleo's mouth when she was younger. And that was one of the less intense punishments she gave her. Anyways, she sipped on it before placing it back onto the table, turning to Fred—who was hiding behind a book she knew he wasn't reading. The top of his head was revealed as he eyed her, hiding his boyish grin behind the object.

She sent him a wink, taking another sip—ignoring the acidic taste on her tongue.

His knuckles turned white as he squeezed the book in anger.

All in all, he pranked her, and constantly failed. He never got under her skin.

He hated that. He really fucking did.

And she loved it.

There was also one more thing.

She had the biggest damn crush on him.

He was the only boy who wasn't eerily nice to her. He didn't pity her like everyone else—because he probably didn't know what she had been through. He treated her like a regular person. And the rivalry they had between them, it excited her. It was something she had, in a weird way. And he was just deadly with those looks. Careless, lazy smiles painted onto his lips—never directed towards her. Sparkly, dazy eyes that were always hooded with some thought in his mind. Most likely another prank idea. And she noticed how his lip would get caught in between his teeth when he awaited for her reaction.

It made her stomach tingle, cheeks blushing furiously. But she hid it. She was good at hiding things.

Her body slightly jolted at the sound of the Professor before her going over the other rules. She hid the flustered feeling that overcame her, pushing away the fact that she had been indeed daydreaming of Fred Weasley.

"The second rule is to treat the family with respect. If you fail to do so, you will be sent to the center of Delinquents."

Her brow rose—intrigued.

"Sounds better than the Weasley clan."

His wrinkled features tightened.

"The kids in that center are not like you. They have committed real crimes. Most of them are in line for Azkaban. If you were to transfer there, I can't protect you. It's entirely your choice when it comes to that, Ms. Everglade."

She gulped, eyes flickering.

"The other rules...what are they?"

The corners of his lips twitched.

"There's only one final one—which is to not tell any of your friends where you are staying. For your protection, we need to keep your whereabouts of your new home hidden. You Aunt may try to make an appearance or two. Other than that, you ate free to do whatever you want."

Her lips stretched into a tight smile.

"Great. I have loads of friends anyways," her voice was dripping with unfiltered sarcasm.

He cleared his throat, holding in his patience, as he nodded his head slowly. "I understand this entire ordeal isn't in your favor—"

"I was fine being with my aunt. It really isn't any of your business, Professor. Whoever told you—"

"You told me yourself," he cut her off thickly, eyeing her with raised brows. "Your thin, Ms. Everglade."

She threw on a cocky smirk.

"Thanks, I've been trying out this new die—"

"Too thin. I'm aware of your reluctance to eat. And you always show up every year with a new round of bruises and cuts etched onto your face and limbs," he noted, making her smirk completely wipe off her face. It was replaced with a slightly shocked one, cheeks flushed and eyes hollow. Her fingers tightened around the chair at his words. "I have been around for more than a hundred years. If you continue to live with your aunt, it'll deteriorate your mind. You do not deserve that life, Ms. Everglade. And you're afraid that the Weasleys will help you realize that."

"I'm not scared of anything," she retorted.

His head tilted.

"I don't believe that. Frankly, everyone is scared of something. Yours is change. You're used to the behavioral patterns your aunt delivered to you. You know what to expect. But down at the burrow, it's new and different."

She looked to the side, losing her courage to face him. He was right—but she'd rather stab a fork in her eye than admit that aloud to him.

"Molly Weasley is a wonderful character. Her children are well behaved and polite...most of the time. The point is, this is for your own good. You'll see that in the future."

Doubt that.

"When do I have to leave?" She murmered, voice cold and plain.

"Today."

Of course. Summer break starts after school today.

Her face wondered back to his. She paled.

"And if they don't like me?"

His lips curved.

"Molly and Arthur Weasley like everyone. You'll be fine."

"Why can't I just stay at someone else's house? Why does it have to be the Weasleys?"

His face slightly dropped. He cleared his throat once again, drumming his fingers against the sleek, shiny desk. She picked up on the dropped tone in his voice.

"They're the only family willing to accept you, Ms. Everglade. The others know of your aunt—"

"—and want nothing to do with me?" She finished for him, rolling her eyes. He nodded at her words.

"Unfortunately."

"So I'm a charity case?"

"No. You fit the description Molly Weasley is aiming for."

"Right. She wants another daughter. Sucks. I don't want another mom."

"She doesn't want to replace your mother, Ms. Everglade. She just wants to be a caring figure for you."

Her face grew hot. Her temper snapped.

"I am seventeen years old. It's too late for that. I'm already fu—screwed up, Professor. All those years of being told that I always did something wrong will not just vanish with a few homemade chocolate chip cookies and singing Christmas carols around the fire."

"I know that," his tone was even. "But this is the only option. And it's final. You will be apparating to the burrow tonight before sunset."

She stood up, refraining from smacking him across the face. He was still her professor, and she needed to respect him. She at least had manners.

"You aren't helping me, sir."

"You're mistaken."

Pursing her lips, she sent him one last glare before spinning on her heel, storming out of the office.

>>

There was a tug on her abdomen, and she was warped right at the doorstep of the Burrow. As soon as her feet slammed against the lanky wood, she heard laughing that echoed within the house. It made her heart churn. She couldn't do this. She simply couldn't handle being in a family. She enjoyed being alone—which she always was. And now...she had no privacy. In her own life, she couldn't control what was happening.

She stared at the door. Wooden carved letters hung on the door.

Weasley.

Shivers rolled down her spine.

One year. She only had one year. Then she'd be eighteen and she could move out.

One year.

With that, she pushed away her overthinking thoughts before bringing her fist to the door. She delivered shark three knocks, clutching her bag in the other. There was sounds of footsteps rumbling across the floorboards, and then a I got it! pierced into the air. She recognized the voice as Ginny Weasley's. Soft yet attention—catching.

The door swung open, and there was a bright smile on Gimny's face. Her blue eyes lit up when she spotted Cleo.

"You made it! Please—come in."

Cleo mumbled a quiet thanks as she walked in, not returning Ginny's smile. The smell of burning wood and chin Oman filled her nose as a warmth hit her. She heard the door shut as her heart pounded, and then froze when her eyes swept over to the family standing before her all together. So many faces. Cleo's eyes widened as she spotted Fred standing beside his twin, face annoyed, as he avoided her gaze.

Perhaps she'd have some fun tormenting him.

A woman wearing a variety—colored apron walked out from in front of the pile, arms wide and open, as she attempted to pull Cleo into a bone crushing hug.

"Oh! It's wonderful to fin—"

Cleo flinched, stepping back quickly. Molly paused with wide eyes.

"Oh urm—I'm sorry. I forgot—Nevermind that," a pitiful smile wiped across her face, cheeks pink. Cleo visibly gulped. Molly stretched out her hand instead, smile growing. "Forgive me. I'm Molly Weasley. And you are Clementine, correct?"

Cleo's face tightened as she leaned forward, shaking her hand stiffly before retracting it back to her side quickly.

"Cleo," she mumbled. "Call me Cleo, please."

Molly nodded. "Of course."

"And I'm Arthur Weasley," a slightly chubby man stepped out from behind Molly, a ridiculous hat lopsided on his head. It held a frilly ending that dangled as he spoke. He stretched out his hand as well. Cleo nodded stiffly as she shook his hand, pulling away just as quickly after. She blinked at him as he sent her a goofy smile.

"But you must calm me father. No exceptions."

Cleo's blood ran cold. Her body became rigid at his words.

Molly snapped her head to him, face twisting.

"Arthu—!"

"It was a joke," he defended himself, holding his hands up in surrender.

She smacked his arm. "It's not funny. Don't bother the poor girl, you git!"

He rubbed his arm, mumbling something under his breath that Cleo failed to hear. Molly sent the girl another smile as she stepped side, pointing to her family. "Sorry about that, hun. These are my children. Ginny, Ron, Fred, George. I have three more but they're not here for now."

They all waved at Cleo, even Fred. But it was forced.

"I dig the bag. Looks wicked," George piped up, holding a confident smile on his face. Cleo's eyes flittered down to the bag, which was literally tearing apart due to how over—used it was. Without thinking, her eyes narrowed over at him.

"It's ugly. I hate it. My aunt found it in the neighbor's trash and gave it to me."

His smile faded slowly at her words, replaced with a mortified look. Everyone sent her confused and surprised looks that she couldn't handle. Be nice Dumbledore's voice rang in her mind. Swallowing down her vomit, she forced a somewhat smile onto her face.

"I suppose it's my favorite ugly bag."

She was horrible at this.

"You're so funny!" Ginny forced out a laugh, slapping Ron on the side. He sent her a furrowed browed look before realizing what she meant—and then he began laughing nervously. Ans then everyone caught along, except Fred, who only eyed her with an up-and-down look repeatedly. Molly chuckled before pointing at Cleo.

"Come, come. Dinner is ready."

Cleo froze.

She didn't eat.

But she had to at least try with the Weasleys, or else she'd be sent to that center. And that couldn't happen.

Dreadfully, she followed the family into the dining room. The table was long and unstable, loaded with piles of plates. She felt sick as she took a seat beside Fred, which was sadly the only free seat. They both avoided each other's eyes as she focused on trying not to barf at the smell of the pasta plate before her. It was a heaping amount. And it looked quite good, but she just couldn't eat.

Everyone began eating around her, chattering. Talking.

"So, Cleo—"

Her eyes snapped up to Arthur Weasley.

He took a bite of his meatball. "What are your interests? Tell us about yourself, kid."

Everyone looked over at her. She looked at them all with a blank look, awkwardly. Her brow rose at him.

"I thought Professor Dumbledore told you everything about me. As least, that's what it seemed like."

"Only that your aunt was a horrific monster," Ron chomped down on his noodles unknowingly, his intentions innocent. Ginny must've stomped on his foot from under the table, because he let out a ow! as she sent him a glare. Cleo's face turned as white as a sheet as she looked back down at her untouched food.

"What Ron meant is that you're in good hands here," Ginny told her sweetly, Cleo catching the grin she flashed at her. "It'll be nice finally having another girl around her in this heap of smelly boys."

"Can it, Gin. I smell like daisies and candy canes," Fred snorted, keeping his usual humorous persona. He hadn't even glanced at Cleo. "But Georgie here can rip some—"

"Dinner talk kids," Molly snapped, eyeing Fred.

He smirked.

"smelly ones," he finished quickly, earning a smack on his arm from Molly.

"Fredrick!"

George rolled his eyes.

"At least I flu—"

"Cleo!" Molly shouted, cutting off her son. Cleo's eyes widened at the woman's outburst. The woman smiled down at her warmly. "You haven't touched your food. Do you not like pasta? I could make something else if you wish."

Cleo blinked quickly, sinking in her seat.

They all looked at her intently as she gulped.

"I urm, I'm not really hungry."

She heard Fred scoff.

"Yeah right."

Her head snapped over to his. Her fists balled below the table.

"Excuse me?"

"Fred," Molly warned.

"We all know you refuse to eat. No need to lie about it," he snapped, gripping his fork tightly. His brown eyes were like caramel swirls, but in this moment, they were squinted and hateful. His upper lip curled. "Bet your bag is filled with nutrional potions."

"Shut up, Freddie." Ginny hissed.

Cleo's lip shook in anger. Fred and her eyes never left each other's.

"Yeah?"

His brow quirked.

"Yeah."

Without thinking, she stabbed her fork into the food before taking a bite. The food revolted her. She wanted to spit it out all over his face. But instead, she chewed the mouthful and then swallowed it. Fred's face morphed into shocked one, eyes growing wide, as her lips stretched into a smirk.

"You're wrong as always, Weasley."

Her vision snapped over to Molly.

"The food is delicious, Ms. Weasley. But I'm tired—so if you'll excuse me—"

"She just wants to throw it up."

His words hit her like a train. Face hot, she looked back at him, and he was smirking at her. But it didn't last long, because before she could curse him out in five different languages, Molly gasped audibly. She looked at her son with pure rage.

"You should be ashamed, Fred. Apologize right now and then go to your room."

"No," Cleo spat. "It's fine. He's right," she looked at him. "And just for you, I'll make sure to get it all out. Thanks for that, Weasley."

His smirk vanished.

She rose her brows in victory before standing up, ignoring the looks of bewilderment everyone was sending her.

"I'll find my room. Goodnight."

And with that, she snatched her bag, and headed towards the stairs.


	3. “The Quarry”

It wasn't hard to find the room at all. Especially when there was a white, crisp parchment that was taped onto the door at the end of the hall—

Clementine's Room

With a look of disgust, she tore it off from the platform before tearing it in half and shoving it into her jeans. Dragging her bag inside, she shut the door with a click, and fell back against it. It was taking every single strand of restraint in her to not throw up the remnants in her stomach of the food she indulged in. It's not that she didn't want to eat, it was that she couldn't. But everyone didn't care enough to ask her—they just assumed she wanted to be thin and petite.

That wasn't the case at all.

Her brown hues examined the room throughly. The walls were painted a deep, red color that Cleo didn't hate at all. It was quite empty, which meant that it really was hers. They probably expected her to decorate it or something. She snorted at the thought. The only thing in the room was a brown, wooden desk that was lodged in the corner—and a twin sized mattress that was held up by a brown headboard. She liked simple.

It wasn't too different.

She spent the night ignoring the family's laughs and occasional bickering from the room below her, folding her clothes into the drawers that were supplied to her by the Weasleys. Her ears were plugged with her earphones as she hummed to the thumping beats of The Bent-Winged Snitches. A lot of wizards didn't like them because they were an American all wizard band—which made her love them even more.

After unpacking everything, tucking her nutritional vials into the last drawer, she crawled into the plain white comforter that was spread out on the bed. It was soft and sunk into her skin like honey. But it wasn't enough to let her sleep. She stared up at the ceiling, limbs spread out like a starfish, glaring ruthlessly at it. It had only been one night and she hated this place.

No. She hated Fred Weasley.

How dare he pretend like he knew her? How did he even know she didn't eat? Was she really that....thin?

She didn't think she looked that bad.

The night was unforgivable. She kept tossing and turning, and it seemed like it had only been five minutes when the sun had risen back up over the horizon. She had just fallen asleep when there was a ear blistering knock on her door, making her body roll over to the other side facing the wall. Her face was dug into the plushy pillow, mouth hanging open as drool dribbled down her chin.

More knocks. Cleo was going to scream.

"Cleo, honey? May I come in?"

Didn't she just see Molly yesterday?

She kept her face shoved into the material, letting out a hmph which was obviously enough for Molly, because the door swung open right after. Cleo's back was facing Molly as she attempted to drown into the abyss of sleep once again, until her loud voice spoke up. "Can I have a word with you, dear?"

Squeezing her eyes shut, Cleo cursed mentally. Leave me the fuck alone she spat in her brain. Holding in her anger, eyes burning from weariness, she rolled over before sitting up, leaning on her elbows. She blew a strand of hair our of her face as she looked over at a smiling Molly, which was a contrast of Cleo's half asleep face that stared at her blankly.

"Sure," she breathed.

Molly shut the door behind her before rubbing her hands together, stepping forward. "I'd like to apologize for Freddie's words last night. He usually doesn't act like it. He feels quite bad about it actually, and he would like to apologize."

Cleo blinked, unbothered.

Molly swallowed thickly. "We would like to have breakfast with you. As a family."

"Breakfast? You guys have breakfast together?"

Molly's brows furrowed. "Of course. We eat three meals together in this house."

"Everyday?"

"Uh—huh."

Cleo pondered briefly. She honestly wanted to just say fuck off and go back to sleep, but she needed to try to be civil. And there was this hopeful look in Molly's eyes that made her feel something weird. Guilt? Pity? She didn't know—but she didn't like it. It held some awkward trance over her. Throwing the covers away from herself, revealing her tanned legs due to her only wearing a tank top and a pair of flimsy pajama shorts, her chest sunk into a depleting sigh.

"I guess I could eat."

Molly's grinned widely, white teeth blinding her. "Oh—okay. I made a variety of things because I wasn't sure what you liked. Come—everyone's waiting!"

Filled with agony, Cleo followed an overly excited Molly down the steps and into the kitchen. There was everyone sitting down, Ginny and Ron conversing about something among the topic of quidditch try outs or something like that. Cleo felt her fists clench as she spotted Fred and George playing this game with their hands, slapping them together in sync. Odd.

Molly rested a hand on Cleo's back. "Go on."

Cleo didn't like the feeling of her hand on her, but didn't say anything as she moved away quickly from her touch. Keeping her gaze low, she seated herself in the chair beside Fred—and felt a certain pair of eyes on her. She met Ginny's kind smile.

"Good morning! How did you sleep?"

"Fine," Cleo murmered, wrapping her hand around the cup of water placed next to her plate of eggs, bacon, sausage, and pancakes. Molly Weasley was insane.

Ginny's smile faltered at her dryness. "That's urm—good."

"You didn't hear the rats, did ya?" George leaned onto the table with his elbows, flashing Cleo a lopsided grin that could've sent girls into a frenzy. "Freddie and I caught some of them buggers a few nights ago trying to eat the danishes mom made. Sometimes I hear 'em crawling in the attic upstairs."

"Don't scare her," Ginny rolled her eyes, taking a bite of her eggs.

Molly had went into the kitchen to probably wash dishes, and Arthur wasn't around. Probably working. Cleo didn't even smile at their words as she sipped her water quietly. Eventually they gave up, speaking amongst themselves—as she picked at her food.

She felt an arm nudge her. Her face paled as she followed the long, toned arm—up to the soft expression on Fred's face. His lips twitched into a small smile. It frightened her. He had never smiled at her before.

"Hey uh—about last night. I'm sorry, I was a dick. Mum told me about what happened at your old house."

Cleo's eyes narrowed. Anger flared in her.

"You're only sorry because you don't want to feel guilty, Weasley."

His face flickered, brown eyes holding sincerity. She didn't like it.

"No..I just...didn't mean to go that far. I really am sorry, Everglade."

She stared at him. His orange hair was messy on his head, but he had already been dressed. A yellow button up along with green khaki pants, he looked boyishly handsome. It struck her heart. And his chocolate brown eyes were peering down at her with hope glistening in them to accept his apology. But instead of her doing just that, she felt her usual coldness rush over her face, rigid and stoic.

Her voice was harsh. "Shove that apology up your orange ass, Weasley."

No one heard her except him. His expression faltered at her words, and she hoped for anger. Hostility. Him being mean to her wouldn't been easier. She didn't like how he changed. But he didn't deliver what she wanted, instead nodding slowly, looking down at his food.

"Alright."

She almost felt bad. Almost.

She almost didn't hear Molly waltz back into the kitchen, putting another plate of steaming potatoes onto the center of the platform. Placing her hands on her hips, she stood behind a seated Ginny, looking over at Cleo with her usual smile. "Eat up, dear. After breakfast we're all going to do down to the quarry."

Cleo's brows snapped together. "Quarry?"

"It's summer, love." George threw a tiny, roasted potato into his mouth, sending Cleo a wink. She would've blushed if she wasn't utterly confused. "We all usually go quite a lot during break. The water feelings like heaven."

"Yeah," Ron agreed, chewing on a sausage. "Especially because it's hot as shi—ow!"

He was cut of by a wack on his bed from Molly's wash cloth in her hands, sending him a dirty look. He rubbed his head with a pout before getting distracted with the sausage, gladly taking another bite. Cleo avoided the urge to roll her eyes as Molly rose her brows at her. "Everyone is required to go. It'll be fun, my dear. Ginny can lend you a bathing suit."

Cleo choked on her water. "Urm—suit?"

Ginny smiled at her. "Yeah. You can borrow one of mine."

"I can just wear a shirt and—"

"Nonsense! That'll be uncomfortable," Molly waved her hands, shaking her head. Cleo's fists balled under the table.

"Oh! Harry and Mione are coming as well, Mum." Ron mentioned, sipping his orange juice. Molly nodded, smile growing.

"Lovely. The more the merrier."

"Perhaps they can replace me," Cleo spoke up, standing up from the table. She hadn't even touched her food, all eyes averting over to her. "I don't really feel good. I'm still a bit tired from my trip, I suppose."

Molly frowned. She crossed her arms. "Everyone is going, dear. The fresh water will wake you right up anyways."

Cleo gritted her teeth. Oh piss off.

She nodded stiffly, against her will, and plopped back down in the chair. She leaned back in her seat, glaring over at Fred, who was biting his lip to suppress a smile. He was taking a sip of his juice as she tilted her head at him. "Something funny, Weasley?"

Ginny, George, and Ron were too immersed in a conversation about something that Cleo couldn't care less about to notice.

Fred swallowed his juice, smirking.

"You look excited, Everglade. Better watch our or I'll drown you," he joked, making her face twist.

"Please don't try to be civil with me. We both know you're bullshitting."

His brow rose. "No foul language at the table, sis."

"Don't call me that," she hissed through her teeth.

His smirk grew. "Don't call you what, sis?"

"Grow up."

"Aw, that's the best you got? Hit me with one of your infamous quotes, Everglade."

"Like?"

He wetted his lips, staring at her through hooded lids. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his scent of cinnoman and ash wafting up her nose. "I dunno. Piss off, Garfield had a nice ring to it back in year four."

She rolled her eyes. She didn't respond. Hoping he got the hint, she picked at her food once again, but he just kept yapping on and on. "So why don't you wanna go to the quarry? Can't swim?"

"None of your business," she flicked at the egg with her fork.

"Valid reason," he smiled at her. It made her chest rumble. She felt electricity fire up in her, down pass her heart, and into her stomach. But she ignored it.

She never would have thought she'd be so happy to hear Ron's voice aimed towards her.

"Hey Cleo, didn't we share Potions together this year?"

She looked over at him, and he looked at her in pure curiosity. He was attempting to speak to her—and she didn't feel like conversing with that meat head. To make him understand that, her lips tightened into a tight smile. It looked painful.

"Dunno. I didn't even notice you."

He almost dropped his fork, staring at her with a slightly hurt look. The table fell silent at that. But then Ron's hands tightened around the utensil, eyes narrowing into daggers at her. "You don't have to be so rude, y'know. I'm only trying to be nice."

"Ron—"

"You lot only feel bad for me," Cleo cut off Ginny, looking at them all. George sipped his orange juice, looking at her pass the glass, keeping silent. Ginny stared at her with a white face, as well as Ron—and Fred was just looking at her with a strained look. She stood up, chair screeching uglily. "Don't. The last thing I want from a group of dim—witted gingers is self—reflected pity."

And with that, she stormed out the kitchen.

As soon as she reached her room, she shut the door and delved into her bed. Pulling the book out from beneath her pillow, she plugged in her earphones and let out her frustration.

The music was blaring in her ears as she scribbled down into her journal. It hardly held itself together, much like herself. It was a brown wooden book that had been sewn back together numerous times—and it held all her personal thoughts inside the pages. She was furious, writing down every single thing that had happened from her point of view. Just as the song was about to change, she was stopped from a knock at the door.

_I hate this place she had written. Everyone looks at me with these god awful pitiful looks that make me want to shove my fist down their throat. Their little perfect family has nothing to do with me so I don't understand why Dumbledore sent me here. I would rather live with my abusive Aunt Laticia then be here for another second. They have a fucking clock with their faces on it! This house is full of bloody loons. The center of delinquents is actually sounding kind of good right now—_

"Urm—Cleo?"

She tore the earphones out of her ears, slamming her book shut, looking up at Ginny who had walked in. She was holding a baby blue bikini set in her pale hands, blinking over at Cleo with uncertainty.

"I knocked. Don't know if you heard me."

Cleo rose her brow. "That for me?"

Ginny nodded. She set it on her desk before turning back around, shifting awkwardly. "Listen—I know you think we feel bad for you...but we really just want to do good by my mum. She really wants another daughter, and you're like her...miracle. I get if you don't like us or whatever, but my mum doesn't deserve any of the insults you're throwing at us."

Cleo blinked at her, chewing on the inside of her cheek. She was sat on the bed cross-legged.

Ginny flipped her long, fiery red hair. "Can you at least give us a chance?"

"I'm not your mum's new daughter," Cleo snapped. "and I'm not part of this family. As soon as I turn eighteen, I'm moving out right after I blow my candles. I don't want to be here. And I know you don't want me here. I'll be cool to your mum. I'll eat meals with you, knit sweaters and play along, but I will never be your mum's daughter or your sister."

Ginny stared at her. Her cheeks were red. But she kept her composure.

"We'll see how you feel about that in a year. Mum says we're leaving in ten minutes."

And with that, she turned around, and the door clicked behind her.

>>

They had port-keyed—which was a rock. Wearing sunglasses, a red tank top, and a pair of jeans shorts, clutching her only bag around her shoulder—Cleo kept her earphones tucked inside her ears. The music boomed as she chewed her gum boredly, leaning against a Boulder, reading To The Lighthouse by the Muggle Author Virginia Woolf. But her eyes kept eyeing the splashing sounds made before her.

The quarry was pretty. It shimmered under the light. And the feeling of the cold sand sinking into her toes delighted Cleo. There was a gentle breeze that kissed her cheeks due to her resting in the shade, where a large tree overshadowed her. There was no one here except the Weasleys, Hermione, and Harry. Molly and Arthur were sitting on beach chairs, watching their kids momentarily before speaking to one another. Glancing at the laughing trio, Hermione, Harry, and Ron were hitting water at each other.

Hermione was wearing a one—pieced bathing suit. It was simple and plain—white. She looked pretty in it and it accentuated her curves. Cleo also caught the way Ron's eyes lingered on her perky breasts when she wasn't looking. He obviously liked Hermione.

Ginny was on Fred's back, Hermione climbing onto George's, and they began to battle one another in the water. Cleo swallowed thickly as she watched Fred, who was wearing green swimming trunks with orange polka dots on them. It hung loosely on his hips, showing off his v—line, and there was a few freckles on his toned chest. He was slim yet muscular, unlike George, who was just lean and tall.

The water dripped down his abs, and she bit her lip. But then his brown eyes, crinkled due to him smiling in victory of Ginny pushing Hermione off, flittered over to her. She instantly looked back down at her book, cheeks pink. She was wearing sun-glasses. He didn't see her.

At least that's what she told herself.

After finishing another page, she felt water drip down onto her feet. Looking up, she met those brown eyes that she had just seen a few moments ago. Fred's mouth opened as his wet hair stuck to his forehead, making Cleo pull out her earphones with an irritated look. "Come on in the water. It feels great."

She looked back down at her book. "I'm good."

"Afraid of water, Everglade?"

"Nope," she muttered, not looking back up at him. He looked too good right now.

"Come on," he sang.

"Piss off."

"Fine," he bent his knees, becoming face to face level with her. She dropped her book onto her lap as she looked at him, refusing to blush at the cocky grin that grew across his face. The sun shined right in his eyes. "If you don't come in, I'll tell everyone about how I caught you checking me out."

Her face whitened. Her muscles froze.

"I urm—don't be ridiculo—"

"I'm not blind. It's fine. You have taste. I get it."

She rolled her eyes.

"Is that a yes?"

"No."

"So it's a no?"

She smiled sweetly at him. "Look at you using context clues."

He smirked. "Fine."

He stood up, looking down at her, cupping his mouth.

"Hey gu—!"

"Fine!" Cleo throw her book on the sand, wiping the dust from her shorts, sending him a furious look. His hands fell back down to his sides as he stood there, waiting for her. She glared at him. "I'll be there in—"

"Now," he demanded, cocking his hip.

She felt her heart drop. Keeping her eyes on the floor, she peeled off her shorts, and then her shirt. It made a pile on the sand. With shaky hands, she looked back up at him, but he wasn't looking at her face. The smug smirk on his lips faded as he stared down at her legs.

Bruises. They covered her thighs. The ugly black and blue smudges surrounded by green lines scattered across her tan flesh.

Shame filled her.

He looked back up at her. He noted her ashamed look.

And then he surprised her. He ran before her, wrapped his arms around her, and sprinted into the lake. She let out a scream. And it wasn't if delight. Cleo couldn't be touched. She was—it was too much to explain. It brought back nightmares of her Aunt throwing her. Beating her. Punching her. The cold water added to her torment as he laughed, not noticing the tears streaming down her cheeks, as she sunk into the water. Her hair became soaked as he wouldn't let go of her, until she began kicking him.

"St—STOP TOUCHING ME!"

His hands froze, his laughing coming to a halt. Everyone looked at her as she crawled out of the quarry, choking out the water that was stuck in her throat, as her trembling body sprinted onto the sand. She shut her eyes as her fingers curled into the sand when she collapsed onto her knees, sobbing. It was too much.

"Fuck—Fred what did you do?" She heard Ginny snap at him.

"Cleo? What happened, dear? Wh—"

"Please," she weakly spat out, making distance between Molly who stepped towards her. The woman froze in her tracks as Cleo sniffled. "Don't touch me. Just please don't touch me."

"Okay, okay." Molly told her softly, looking at her with a kind look. And then she felt her eyes burn onto her thighs.

She rubbed at her eyes. Her eyes swept over to the lake. They all stared at her legs. Except Fred. He stood in the water, holding a horrified look on his face as his eyes bored into hers. She instantly broke eye contact with him. Standing up with jittery legs, she grabbed her shorts, slipping them back on.

"I'm fine. Sorry," she told Molly.

Molly shook her head.

"No no. You're fine. Freddie didn't know."

"I didn't. I'm really sorry," he told her truthfully, coming out of the water. He appeared to look extremely guilt-filled. His features were tightened as he looked down at her standing figure. "It's my bad. I shouldn't have touched you, Everglade."

"Do you want to leave?" Arthur asks, concerned.

Cleo shook her head. "I'm good. I'll just read."

"Are you su—"

"Yeah," she replied to Molly, and without another word, she plugged in her headphones and opened her book. Pretending to be fine, she held back her tears, as her eyes skimmed across the words without comprehending what they were saying. She was just trying to not have a mental breakdown at the moment.

No one had fun for a bit after that. They spoke amongst one another in whispers, and she kept glancing over at Fred—who kept staring at her worriedly. But she ignored it. She hated him. He ended being like everyone else. Feeling bad for her. After about ten minutes, everyone began to play again, but there was tension in the air. Fred ended up being lifted into high spirits, chuckling as he dunked Harry under the water.

When they all returned back home, they were sat down for dinner. Cleo was quite as she of course didn't eat her food, picking at her food with a bland look. She had to sit a bit closer to Fred due to Hermione and Harry being squeezed into the mix, around the table. She could feel his warmth, cinnamon filling her senses, as she looked down at her plate.

Everyone was immersed into conversation. Fred leaned down to whisper in her ear. "Sorry about it today."

She picked up her cup. "It's fine."

She sipped her water. He stared down at her. She didn't meet his gaze. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Her fingers squeezed the cup as she set it down. Her eyes floated over to his. His brown hues were wide and innocent, and she felt her face relax. He was so close to her. She could feel his breath fan her face. It smelled like oranges. His sharp features were illuminated by the dim light. He was indeed beautiful.

But he was also a dick. And one day of him being nice wasn't going to trick Cleo.

"Your insecurity makes me nauseous," she spat before pushing away her plate, standing up. No one noticed as she left the dining table and retreated back up to her room.


	4. “Truth or Dare”

It was about eleven o'clock at night. Cleo liked showers at night—because they helped her fall to sleep. Feeling clean was one of the best feelings she could ever ask for, and she took it seriously. She was sure everyone was asleep, so she swung open her bedroom door before heading across the hall quietly, towel draped over her arm, as she pushed open the bathroom door. 

The towel fell from her arm, along with her mouth. 

Fred had a towel draped over his hips, hanging low. If he shifted too fast, it would fall down his slim torso, his chest glistening with water droplets. She didn't hear him shower. The restroom was filled with moist warmth due to his shower, and it smelled of shaving cream as the side of his jaw was covered in the white substance. His eyes snapped over to her, and instead of growing mad, he ended flashed her a shit-eating grin. "Pick up your mouth, Everglade." 

She gulped, taking a step back. He looked back over at the mirror, continuing the actions of shaving his face with the razor in his hand. She felt her blood pumping at his state, but she pushed it away, non—chalantly raising her brow. "I need to shower, Weasley." 

He hummed. "Do you now?" 

Her eyes narrowed. 

"Yes. So hurry up and get out. Your face is giving me a headache." 

"Not my chest though, right?" He retorted, eyes glancing at her for a moment. His grin grew. "You like my chest, don't ya Everglade?" 

"Of course not," she spat, blinking at him furiously. Her cheeks were red. 

His eyes landed on his reflection. 

"Caught you staring again. You should pay me, you know. I don't mind being an object if I get paid." 

Smoke flew out of her ears. "I don't stare at you, git. You just—always happen to be shirtless. There's nothing there anyways." 

He paused at that. Her heart was racing in her chest. Slowly, his head turned to her. Her eyes momentarily landed on the chain that rested on his sun-kissed skin, with a tiny golden medal that laid in the center. When she peered back up at his eyes, he was staring at her with raised brows, hand holding the razor pressed against the sink. 

His eyes glistened. "Calling me fat. Hm?" 

She blinked quickly. 

"Wh—" 

"I'm a sensitive man," he glared at her playfully, tilting his head. "Watch what you say. I take my pride seriously. You don't wanna see me cry. My face twists and I sound like a a dyin—" 

"Can you just shave the pubes off your face and get out?" She snapped, fists balling at her sides. He but his lip to suppress his smile as he shrugged, looking back at the mirror. 

"Whatever you say, sis." 

Her jaw clenched. She hated that word. She didn't like it when he called her that. It made her feel...guilty. 

"Don't call me that, you Chuckie Doll looking arse." 

He let out a small chuckle before bending down, his abs flexing, as he rinsed the cream off his face. He set the razor back down next to the sink as after he cleaned it. Grabbing the towel off the sink, he dabbed his face, fully facing her now. His eyes were hooded as he lazily smiled down at her. 

"Okay, how about princess?" 

Her face paled. Her brown hues grew noticeably at the way the word rolled off his tongue. His thick accent made her stomach whirl. She tried to answer, but her tongue was dry. He chuckled before tossing the towel into the bin, holding the one on his waist, before bending down. On his knees, he looked up at her through his thick red lashes. 

Her chest rose. She was for sure blushing right now. She looked down at him with a blank look—but her insides were twisting. A rush of adrenaline ran though her seeing him on his knees like that, looking at her with an admirable look. "Wh—What—" 

He picked up the towel that she had dropped, standing back up, chest almost touching hers. He was so close to her. The only thing separating them was the towel he held in between them, pushing it against her. His voice was barley above a whisper. 

"Almost forgot your towel, princess." 

Her eyes glanced down at his lips. They were pink and plump, but also thin. They were perfect. Almost as if he knew she was staring at them, he licked them slowly, making her breath hitch. Her fingers squeezed the towel as she slowly trailed back up to his eyes, which were stormy and dark. His dilated pupils trapped hers. 

"Have a nice shower," he murmered with a hint of cockiness in his undertone. And then, he sent her a wink before walking past her, strolling down the hallway before shutting his bedroom door at the end of the hall. 

Her hand flew to her chest when she was alone. She couldn't breathe. It was like he sucked all the oxygen from the universe. The way he looked at her—it was intoxicating. She could still smell the apple—scented shampoo that he had rubbed into his wet hair, along with the minty toothpaste that still lingered in his breath. Her stomach felt a sinking feeling as she squeezed her thighs together, releasing some tension that built up in there from that one single word he called her. 

Princess. 

Why was he being so flirtatious with her? He hated her these past couple of years. He yearned to see her get upset about his pranks, fail after fail. And now—he looked at her with this intensity that she couldn't quite pin point. 

Biting her lip, she stepped into the bathroom. 

>>

A couple days had passed. Everything was the same. She would wake up, eat breakfast, then go back to her room. Come back down for lunch, then retreat back up to her room. Finally return for dinner, and then sleep in her room just for the cycle to start again. She downed the nutritional vials religiously. 

When Cleo had came downstairs for dinner, she froze. Molly and Arthur weren't present, which made   
a confused look graze onto her features. Everyone, as well as Harry and Hermione, were eating as they spoke. George and Fred were balancing plates on their heads, Hermione was slapping Ron on the arm after he stole her biscuit, and Harry and Ginny were kissing. Cleo's eyes widened. She didn't know they were dating. 

She approached the table, catching the eyes of Hermione. "Oh, hey Cleo. How are you?" 

Her brow rose. "Peachy. Where's Mr. and Mrs. Weasley?" 

"Date night," Fred replied as he stabbed his steak with a fork. 

George finished for him. "They do it every Sunday night. Which means we get to do whatever we want." 

"No matter how bollocks we go," Fred added, sending her a smirk that hit her right in the chest. 

She crossed her arms over her chest. 

"What? The most rebellious thing you have done is wearing that hideous shirt." 

Laughs traveled around the table. Fred's smirk didn't even flinch as he eyed her up and down, and she did the same. Ginny banged the table with his fist repeatedly. "She got you there, Freddie." 

His head tilted, a glimmer in his brown hues. 

"You're telling me you're a rebel, Everglade?" 

"And what if I am, Weasley?" She snapped back sharply. 

He stood up, smiling wickedly. 

"Then let's test that. Let's play—" 

"Truth or dare?" George finished, standing up as well, with an excited look on his face. Fred nodded, still looking at Cleo. "That's right, Georgie." 

Before Cleo could respond, Hermione shot up, blinking in pure shock. "That's barbaric! Remember the last time we that horrid game?" 

Everyone stood up. Harry placed his hand on her shoulder, sending her a gentle smile. "It's fine, Mione. You healed my leg anyways. I think it sounds fun." 

"Yeah," Ginny agreed, a grin on her lips. "Let's do it." 

Ron took a bite of his biscuit, the only one still eating while standing up, as everyone eyed him with questionable looks. Mouth hanging open, he paused his actions, blinking. George rolled his eyes, slapping his back roughly. Ron almost choked as he spat out the food, afterwards sending his brother a furious look. "Oi, I could've cho—" 

"Truth or dare. Yes or no?" George muttered with a huff. 

Ron rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Fine." 

Everyone turned to look at Cleo. 

"Well?" Ginny rose her brows. "You in?" 

Cleo's face twisted. "Of course not. That's a kid's game. I'm going to my ro—" 

"She's just scared," Fred snorted, making her body go rigid. He sent her a mocking look. "That's fine. We don't need noobs playing with us anyway. Have fun writing down in your little diary, Everglade." 

There was an awkward silence as she glared up at him. He held the most smug look on his face, knowing he was getting under her skin. Her fists balled at her sides as her chest heavily rose and sunk, brows furrowed in irritation. Her nostrils flared as her teeth gritted. "Scared? I'm not scared of anything, you ginger—headed weasel." 

"Sure sounds like it," he grinned. 

"Then I'll play. Just to spite you." 

His teeth showed, face breaking out into a huge smile. It made her chest warm. 

"Consider me spited." 

That feeling. It was the same one she felt last night. That warm butterfly feeling in her abdomen. She head to tear her eyes away from his as Ginny clapped her hands, leading them all into the living room. They moved to sit in a circle, but George had disappeared for a moment. Everyone else took their seats. The order went Hermione (who looked like she was going to shit her pants) Ron, Cleo, Ginny, Harry, and then Fred. When George re—entered the room, he was holding a small clear vial in his hands, and took a seat beside his twin. 

He swished the liquid, watching it with a proud look. 

"What's that?" Hermione asked nervously, twiddling with her fingers. 

"Veritaserum—of course," Fred answered for his brother, a devious grin hanging off his lips. He sat across from Cleo, who tried her best to act unfazed and calm. "To make the game more interesting. Especially since one of us lied last time we played." 

He eyed Ron, who shot him a frown. "I did not!" 

"You said you didn't kiss Hermione, and we all know that was a lie," Ginny giggled, leaning on Harry's shoulder. He had his arm wrapped around her waist, and Cleo thought it was cute. In a way. She didn't like people touching her, but if she did, she would've liked it if her boyfriend did that. Ron ended up mumbling gibberish as Hermione blushed as red as Cleo's walls, shyly keeping her gaze on the floor. 

George passed around a shot glass that was filled with the potion, and everyone took it. 

"Right," George clapped. He looked over at Cleo. "Truth or dare, Cleo?" 

She held back the urge to roll her eyes. "Truth." 

"Who's the hottest bloke in this room?" 

Ginny's face wrinkled in disgust. "She's meant to be our foster sister, you idiot." 

"She's not related to us Gin," he snapped back with a goofy grin, then his eyes flickered back over to Cleo. "Come on. You have to answer truthfully." 

Cleo felt like she was going to vomit. She couldn't lie. The words were being forced out of her, due to the potion. She had to press her lips together and seal them to not blurt out the answer. She caught everyone looking at her with awaiting looks, her nails digging into the fabric of her sweatpants, as fear consumed her. It wanted to come out so bad. 

She was fucked. 

"Scared?" Fred taunted. 

"Let's just skip—" 

Cleo's words cut off Harry. "Fred." 

The room fell silent. And then, a few moments later, everyone erupts into laughter—including Fred. Her cheeks were red as she blushed furiously, back hunching. Great. Now he knows that she finds him hot. He knew that though. He probably set up George to ask the question. All her staring must've made him curious. She released a deep sigh as her gaze avoided Fred. Eventually, everyone calmed down. Ginny had fallen into Harry, and Ron was holding onto George for support. 

"Not gonna lie. I thought she was going to say me," George admitted, still chuckling. "But that was a pleasant surprise. He is my twin after-all."

"George," Cleo spat. "Truth or dare?" 

"Dare." 

She wondered briefly. Then, her lips stretched into a wide, evil smirk. 

"Give Hermione a lap dance." 

Hermione's eyes widened in horror. "What? That's not—" 

"You got it," he winked, pushing himself onto his feet. Hermione spat out a series of no no no no as he strutted towards her, swaying his hips dramatically, everyone laughing their hearts out at the scene. The girl blinked up at him with a white face as he circled around her, trailing his finger around her shoulders, before pausing right before her. He then straddled her lap, making her gasp, as he shook his bum repeatedly. 

Cleo even laughed at that, slapping a hand over her mouth. 

Hermione was blushing so hard that Cleo was afraid she was going to cry. George stopped after a few seconds, took a few steps, and dropped sassily. Cleo's eyes bulged open at that, and a horrendous cackle left her. He rose back up sharply before sending Hermione a wink, and then sat back down in his seat. They all clapped and whooped—except for Hermione, who held her face in her hands. 

She was so embarrassed. 

"You're my new favorite person," Harry called out to Cleo, laughing hysterically. 

Cleo smiled at that. They weren't as bad as she thought. They still sucked, just not as much as the thought. 

Everyone went around at least once. Ginny was dared to lick Harry's toe, Hermione was asked who was her first kiss—which was Victor Krum, Harry had been asked if he was a virgin, which was a hard no at the way him and Ginny blushed, Ron had been dared to eat a spoonful of hot sauce that he handled like a champ, and Fred had been asked who took his virginity. The answer was Hannah Abott. 

It went back down to Cleo, who now had a soda in her hand. She sipped it as Ron looked over at her. "Truth or dare, Cleo?" 

She decided that she didn't want to answer anymore questions. 

"Dare." 

He grinned. 

"I dare you to take three shots." 

Her face fell. 

"Ronald!" Hermione scolded him. "Your parent—" 

"They won't be back for a few hours," Ginny shrugged, glancing at Cleo. "You wouldn't get in trouble." 

Cleo chewed on her lower lip nervously. She didn't mind drinking, but if Molly found out—she would get sent to the delinquent center. She didn't get drunk easily though, so perhaps it would be fine. Her eyes swept over to Fred, who watched her with a certain look. Like he was admiring her. She ignored it. He was probably just looking at her normally. 

She rose her brows. "So is someone found to get it or...?" 

"No need," Ron chuckled, waving his hand. It appeared in his hands. Her eyes widened as he poured the alcohol into the shot glass. "I already knew where it was. Mum is horrible at hiding things." 

He handed her the first shot. "Drink up, Cleo." 

She rolled her eyes before tipping her head back. Her eyes squeezed shut as her face contorted, the burning taste of the vodka running down her throat. It burned her insides as she coughed. The group chanted one! She took another, and then another. By the time she was finished, her vision was a bit dazy—mind fuzzy. She smacked her lips. "Done." 

Harry clapped, smiling widely. "Well done." 

She smiled hazily.

Her eyes swept over to Fred. 

"Truth or dare, Fredrick?" 

He rolled his eyes at the name. He hated it. "Truth, I suppose." 

Her lips broke out into a devilish grin. 

"Where's the weirdest place you've ever had sex?" 

His brows rose. She looked at him with hooded eyes, and a lopsided smile. She was definitely tipsy. Vodka was very strong. He bit back a smile as he shook his head. "Awfully private, isn't it?" 

"Answer it," George nudged him.

"Yeah, don't be a noob Weasley." Cleo smirked. 

His eyes darkened. 

"The train to Hogwarts." 

Her smirk faded. For some reason, his low words made her stomach tingle. That was a bit arousing. She couldn't help but imagine his hand slamming against the girl's mouth to keep her moans and whimpers quiet as he rammed into her. Sweat trickling down his forehead as the veins in his neck protruded, spitting countless encouragements in her ears to get her closer to her release. Cleo's face flushed as he stared at her with a clenched jaw, her breathing becoming rapid, as she shared right back at him the same way. 

Her thighs clenched together. 

"Gross," Ginny crinkled her nose in disgust. "I could've lived my entire life without hearing that." 

"Same," Ron grumbled. 

Cleo removed her eyes from Fred when she felt her arousal fill her. Her core ached as she looked down at the soda in her hands, trying to will away the horny feelings that began to fill her. She could feel Fred's eyes burn onto her. 

The game continued for another hour or so. But the feeling in between her legs wouldn't go away. So, she stood up, brushing off her jeans. "I'm heading to bed." 

"Same," Fred shot up just as quickly, covering the front of his pants. 

They eyed the duo suspiciously. Hermione frowned.   
"It's only ten." 

"I have a date with my journal," Cleo mumbled before turning around, heading towards the stairs. She heard footsteps behind her as she turned the corner, and then paused. Behind her, Fred had followed her since his room was in the same direction. But he was standing before the bathroom, about to go inside, until he caught her gaze. Her brow rose. "I thought you were going to sleep?" 

He shot her a glare. "I need to piss, Everglade." 

And with that he slammed the door. 

Rolling her eyes, she was about to walk away, until she heard a grunt. Freezing, she waited a few more moments. No. He wasn't— 

"Fuck. Ugh." 

Jolts of pleasure shot through her core. He was fucking touching himself. Her hand grilled the frame of the bathroom door as she leaned her ear against the platform, holding her breath. She wanted to hear it again. She blamed the alcohol coursing through her veins as the reason for her creepiness. Licking her lips, she listened closely. It happened again. 

"Shit. Ug—fuck." 

His moans grew louder as he grew closer. She whimpered silently as she chewed on her lower lip. This was the hottest thing ever. But she felt to guilty to listen to any more of it. She ducked her head as she scurried back to her room, replaying the sounds of his moans in her mind. Did he get turned on by the same thing she did? She crawled into her bed, her body begging for release, but she didn't grant it. She really was too tired. And she didn't want to get off to the thought of Fred Weasley. 

She would never do that. 

She didn't sleep well that night.


	5. “Isolation”

_That walking ginger—bread man has me fucking going crazy. His stupid face, with that stupid perfect body. It wasn't fair. He is stuck in my mind and it is driving me absolutely mad! He isn't even that good looking. I mean yes, he does have nice eyes that look like the sea, and his smile makes these weird things fly in my stomach. But that is completely normal. I'm a teenage girl who is living in a house of semi—attractive boys. But when I heard him in the bathroom a few nights ago, it made me—_

"Cleo, dear! Come down for dinner!"

Her dainty hand paused writing down in her journal. With a huff, she slammed the book shut before stuffing it behind her pillow, and threw her legs off the bed. Her feet sunk into the warm carpet of her room, which kissed her soles, as they swept across the floor. She swung her door open before jogging down the stairs, dreading the fact that she had to sit sit down and avoid eating once again, but her heart was racing. She was a bit nervous to see Fred. It began a few nights ago, when she had caught him....yeah. She couldn't help it. Her legs got all shakey and her voice was uneven.

It was weird. She didn't like weird.

She approached the table, where everyone was waiting for her, and then she took a seat beside Fred. She glanced at him, and he sent her a small smile—but she didn't return it. Refusing to flush at the way he looked—red strands hiding his eyes as his skin shined under the light—she checked her plate of food. But instead, it was soup.

Her brows furrowed. She noticed everyone had a bowl in front of them.

"Is this it?"

Molly beamed at her. "We all know you have a hard time eating solids, so Freddie suggested we have soup for dinner tonight. Something more easier for you to get down."

At her words, her heart pumped rapidly in her chest. That was thoughtful. Everyone sent her smiles, but her eyes darted over to Fred—who was looking at her with wide eyes. He gulped at her pale face.

"Did that offen—"

"No," she rushed out, shaking her head slowly. "Not...at all."

The corners of his lips twitched. "Cool."

Her cheeks turned red as she blinked down at the soup. Everyone began eating, the sound of clinking silverware filling her ears. Taking in a deep breath, her spoon scooped a spoonful of the broth—and she hesitantly held it up to her lips. Her lips wrapped around it as she sipped the warm liquid. Chicken soup. It tasted of garlic and faint hues of chicken. She swallowed it down. It was really good.

She caught Fred watching her with a faint smile, but when she caught him, he quickly looked back down at his own soup and began eating. Her heart raced.

"Do you like it?" Arthur asks her with widened blue eyes, a mixture of curiosity and worry lacing over his features.

All eyes flew to her as she swallowed thickly, nodding stiffly. She looked over at Molly with the closest thing to a smile she could come up with—which ended up being a tight—lipped faint grin.

"It's wonderful. Thank you, Mrs. Weasley."

Molly's face untensed at her words, an appreciative smile growing onto her own face. She rose her brow at the girl. "Call me Molly, dear. You're practically family."

At her words, Cleo should've felt welcomed. Excited. But instead—her smile dropped. She suddenly remembered the conditions she was in. Did she think she could actually do this? She couldn't have a family. Her only family died, and eventually, the Weasleys will get tired of her as well. Just like her aunt did. Everyone got tired of her. And she wasn't going to set herself up for failure. She needed to get a grip on reality before it snaps her back into the whirl of disappointment that she never wanted to feel again.

She didn't say anything else, becoming more quiet. She silently ate her soup—finishing it all—before standing up and placing her dish in the sink. Aiming to go back up to her room, Ginny's voice stopped her. "Cleo! Wait up."

She paused right before Ginny, who had jogged up to her right at the bottom of the staircase. Cleo spun around to face her, biting the inside of her cheek, hoping she could get this over with. She needed to isolate herself. Ginny sent Cleo her infamous, sweet and gentle smiling—blue eyes glittering beautifully.

"Tomorrow, the twins, Ron, and I are meeting Harry and Hermione down at Hogsmeade. In the summer it's quite busy, so we might be able to snatch some fire whiskey if Madam Rosmerta is too preoccupied. You down to come with?"

Her voice was smooth like honey, and it almost enticed Cleo to agree to the offer. But that is, until her eyes flew over to Fred, who was using magic to clean his dishes. That resulted in Molly smacking him in the back of the head—earning nothing but a laugh from the ginger—headed boy. Her heart flared at his smile. Her feelings were growing. But she wasn't planning on staying here. She can't get attached.

She was leaving as soon as she turned eighteen. She didn't know where, but she was leaving London. Away from her aunt, away from Hogwarts, away from the Weasleys, from....Fred. She couldn't handle heartbreak again.

With that in mind, Cleo pushed away her feelings. She shook her head. "I'm busy. Sorry."

Ginny's smile flickered. "Doing what?"

"We're not sisters. You don't need to know my business," Cleo spat at her harshly, eyes narrowing into daggers that made Ginny's cheeks turn pink with anger. Her fists balled at her sides.

"I'm just trying to be nice. What's the—"

"Then stop being nice!" Cleo shouted, catching the eyes of the family in the kitchen. They all looked at her with a mass of puzzlement crossing their faces, and she felt her breath shrink. Her eyes threatened to water, but she held the tears back, and then her vision averted back to a fuming Ginny.

"Just leave me alone," she snapped.

Ginny glared at her.

"Fine. Have fun being miserable locked up in that room." Her voice was no longer soft and easing—but full of hostility and icey. The undertone of pure rage slapped Cleo right in the face, making her face twist.

"Gin—!"

"That's my plan," Cleo rose her brows before turning around with a huff, storming up the steps. She stepped into her room before refraining slamming the door, knowing it was rude to do that in another's household. But her balled fists couldn't help it—colliding with the wall along with a grunt. Sharp pains broke through her knuckles as they became inflamed and red—but it didn't compare to how upset she was inside with herself. Distance yourself.

Sitting down at the foot of her bed, her foot tapped anxiously against the floorboard. Memories of her past flashed through her mind.

_"I'm having guests over," the brown—haired woman snapped towards Cleo, wearing a maroon—colored apron that laid flatly on her plump stomach. Her makeup caked face eyed the girl as she held a spatula in her hand, slapping it against her palm. "Stay in the basement. Don't leave until I tell you to. You're embarrassing to be seen with, Clementine."_

_Cleo refrained from rolling her eyes. Obvious annoyance was evident on her features. "Kay."_

_Her Aunt Laticia sent her a raised brow, humming as she folded her arms. "Come give me a kiss."_

_Cleo froze. She knew what that meant. Her eyes flickered up to the woman's dark eyes, malicious intents hidden behind them. She gulped._

_"I meant oka—"_

_"Come here," she hissed, and with balled fists, Cleo obeyed. Lips trembling, she leaned forward to peck her cheek, but ended up getting a slap in the face with her heft palm instead. With a grunt, her body slammed onto the floor due to the force, her hand flying up to her own cheek to see if blood had been drawn. When she checked, the red substance was on the tip of her finger. She looked up at her Aunt in horror who cackled._

_"Stupid, girl. You know better than to not address me correctly."_

_Her cheek burned as she caresses her skin, blinking up at her Aunt from the floor. The words left her without knowing._

_"You crazy bitch."_

_Her Aunt's wicked smile faded, a glare of pure fury flashing in her eyes. Her upper lip curled. "What did you just call me, you incompetent imbecile?"_

_Cleo crawled back out of fear, suddenly regretting her words, as her Aunt stepped closer and closer. She grabbed the girl's body as a scream escaped her, swung open the basemen door, and threw her down the steps. Her back hit the sharp endings of the stairs as a cry tore from her throat, her stomach slamming onto the bottom. She could feel blood trickle out of her head as she laid there, body limp and unable to move._

_"I'll show you crazy, you ungrateful cunt!"_

_And with that, she slammed the door._

She was shaking at the memory. Swallowing down the bike that rose in her throat, she restrained herself from crying. If she cried, then she wouldn't be able to stop. She promised herself she would never cry because of that woman again. Sniffling, she crawled into her comforter, and plugged in her earphones. She stared at the side of the wall she faced blankly, feeling hollow and emotionless. Her fingers squeezed the blanket.

>>

When Cleo woke up, the house was silent. Unusual. She figured it was most likely because they all left to Hogsmeade, and since it was empty, she decided she wanted to go on outside for a bit by herself. Due to the heat, she had only been wearing a thin, flimsy tank top and a pair of pajama shorts. Tousling her hair, she yawned groggily, before swinging open her door. Venturing down the stairs, where it was vacant, she almost smiled. Finally. Some peace and quiet.

Her feet carried her across the creaky floorboards, and she swung open the front door. The summer breeze kissed her right on the face, feeling like absolute heaven, as her eyes fell shut. She enjoyed being alone. She was used to being alone. And when she was, she appreciated the small things. Leaning her head against the doorframe, she took in the faint smell of faint smoke and cinnamon that filled her senses, in a daze. The burrow was quite stunning. Yards of tall grass covered the front yard, and her feet sunk into a plushy welcome mat that had black—bonded words that spelled

_Home of the Weasleys_

Her mouth twisted to the side. This wasn't her home. She wasn't a Weasley.

And she didn't want to be one. She was fine with being an Everglade. She didn't need to be taken in my some family that lived on the outskirts because they were too poor. She didn't need any of them.

Walking into the kitchen with a sigh, she poured herself with a glass of water. Right as she began to head back up the stairs, there was a crack, and the teenagers appeared in the living room. They were all laughing as she stood there, in the entrance of the kitchen, staring at them with wide eyes. Her eyes flew to Fred—who actually looked handsome. He was wearing a blue button up with beige khakis, the medallion around his neck—orange hair messily plopped on his head. Still smiling, his brown hues flickered over to hers.

She ignored the warm flush feeling in her chest.

"You missed out," Fred's lips curved into a smirk—playful tone evident in his voice. He eyed her with an up-and-down look, and then slowly, his smirk faded.

Her brows furrowed, and then she realized what she was wearing. Swallowing thickly, she crossed her arms, hiding her breasts. She wasn't wearing a bra.

"Highly doubt that, ginger-snap."

Everyone's eyes averted to Cleo, who held a sour look. Ginny's face immediately twisted when her blue hues landed on Cleo. "Why are you out of your room? Here to step on our family name some more?"

For some odd reason, her words reminded her of her Aunt. She would say that exact same statement. "Why are you out of your room in the basement?" Her face paled, but her fingers tightened around the glass, sending the red—headed girl an annoyed look.

"What? I can't leave my room now?"

"You can," Ginny rose her brow sharply. "But I'd rather not have your negative self soak up my energy."

"Enough Gin," Fred warned her, nudging her side. But his sister didn't relent the look that she sent Cleo, as if she wanted to strangle her. Cleo almost felt like she was trying to choke her through her mind. He looked over at Cleo. "You both need to—"

"Sounds real hilarious coming from someone who's dating a boy who lived under the stairs. Thought you'd know how much it fucking sucks to stay in a small space," Cleo spat bitterly at her, making Harry look at her with a confused look, thin brows Snape's together.

"Hey—"

"Why don't you just leave?" Ginny fumed, stomping her foot angrily into the ground. Cleo felt hurt by her words. But she wouldn't show that.

"Believe me, I would. But you're stuck with me."

"Okay okay," George clapped his hands, trying to raise the moods. "Let's have a half—time break h—"

"Why don't I call Dumbledore? Surely he wouldn't like the way you're treating us," Ginny seethed through gritted teeth, red—brows contorted in pure fury. Her pale cheeks were red, freckles standing out, as she ignored Harry who was rubbing her shoulder to calm her down. Cleo's face fell at that, eyes slightly narrowing. "What would happen? Huh? Maybe you should learn how to be grateful before we send you right back to your Au—"

"Ginny!" Fred shouted at her, cutting her off. But it was too late. The words had already left her mouth, and Cleo stumbled back in surprise. She wanted to fucking beat the shit out of her. She was full of rage, slamming her cup down back onto the table, and stepped towards the girl.

"Fuck you," she spat before heading up the stairs, storming into her room, and slamming the door shut. It took everything in her to not swing a punch at her puny face. The only reason she didn't is because she couldn't get in trouble, which fucking sucked. Her eyes threatened to spill angry tears, but before she could even do anything, there was a knock at her door.

Her voice was quiet.

"Piss off."

The door opened, and much to her surprise, in popped Hermione. She held a nervous look as she walked in, shutting the door behind her, and kept her distance. Cleo sent her an irritated look.

"Piss off isn't code for coming in, Granger."

Her wide, brown chocolate eyes melted onto Cleo with sincerity. "I urm—just wanted to make sure you were okay. Gin isn't usually lik—"

"Save it," she rolled her eyes. "Her words didn't bother me. I could give a fuck what she says."

"Right," she muttered, fiddling nervously with her fingers. Her brows rose at Cleo, who was unsure of her intentions. "Well...I saw you reading that one book. To The Lighthouse if I'm correct?"

"Spit it out, Granger."

Hermione's cheeks flushed as she sent her a small smile, tilting her head. Her brown curls cascaded down the shoulders of her white sweater, which was furry and also very thick. Which was odd, since it was summer. "Well, in a way—the Weasley's burrow is much like a lighthouse."

Cleo's face twisted. "Wha—"

"Lighthouses are meant to help lost ships find their way. In a way, you're someone who doesn't understand which path to go on—and they're supposed to help you decide. They're only meant to help, Cleo. They don't have any malicious intents, and quite frankly, they haven't done anything even close to being evil towards you. I'm not telling you—what you should or shouldn't do—but just....think about it."

Cleo remained silent, taking in her words, and Hermione decided that was it for her. Her smile grew. "We're going to watch the boys play quidditch outside later tonight. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are spending the night out of town—and you should come out. It's up to you."

And with that, she turned on her heel and left.

Cleo stood there, conflicted.


	6. “Boyfriend”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mature Scenes

Dinner with the Weasleys was a new concept of torture for Cleo, who sat quietly at the table, not even attempting to embark on a conversation with any of the gingers that sat before her. She didn't have an appetite. She ended up passing the opportunity that Hermione had offered her—because she didn't want to have to spend any time with Ginny more than necessary. A few days have passed since then. But she should've known that Molly was going to try to interact with her, since she wanted Cleo to be her daughter after all.

"Cleo—hun, I forgot to mention this to you," she gasped, a spark of remembrance embarking in her caramel—swirl hues, the ones that Fred had inherited from her. Speaking of which, she was avoiding his momentarily yet constant glances he threw at her, wanting to catch her gaze. She peered up at Molly with a monotone look as she eagerly stood up, scurrying over to the kitchen counter. "Errol dropped this off earlier and it had your name on it."

Cleo's brows furrowed as the smiling woman handed her the folded parchment that had Cleo Everglade written out in big letters over the front. Confusion swirling inside of her, she accepted it hesitantly, before unfolding it. She felt Fred peer over her shoulder due to him sitting beside her. "Secret admirer?"

She rolled her eyes, ignoring him, as she read the words.

_My Dear Friend Doc,_

_I suppose you forgot about the most charming, loyal, intelligent, astonishingly handsome, humble friend that you've ever had. Very well then, I'll push my ego aside to write you this letter. Your company is yearned by me. In other words, I miss you. It's been brought to my attention that you are currently staying with the Weasley family—which brings me great shock. To save you for a mere few hours, let's share a drink down at the Three Broomsticks tomorrow morning. I am interested to hear about their pet pig and human—sized rats_.

Your wealthiest and most sexist friend,

Theodore Nott

The letter brought a grin to her lips. That little fucker. She missed him quite dearly, and although he was a cocky arse sometimes, he was indeed her only and utmost best friend. He had been there for you ever since she arrived to Hogwarts, simply not giving a damn that they came from different houses. He, being a Slytherin, and her, being a Gryffindor. The fact that the houses were extreme rivals made him want to befriend her even more, and vice versa.

And on the other hand, he was also decent looking. That was a lie. He was extremely good looking. Brown curls laid neatly at the top of his head, only gelled back on special occasions, but his brown—shimmery eyes were usually covered by the escaping curls that framed his forehead. His pale skin was clear and smooth, in contrast to his dark features. His voice was silky yet raspy, and his words made her legs feel like jelly, but she never held a crush on him.

She always had her eye on Fred. The one boy she couldn't have. She wouldn't let herself.

"Sounds like a tool, that bloke."

She jumped from the sound of his deep voice behind her, right in her ear, as she snapped his head over to him. His brown hues were filled with a glint as he sent her a teasing smile, one that struck her right in the heart. It fluttered as he stared down at her with hooded eyes, the smell of his cinnoman laced breath fanning her face. They were so close. "Theodore Nott. Didn't he wet his pants in first year?"

She folded the letter onto her lap, sending him a glare—although she was sure her cheeks were pink. "See your way out of my personal life, Weasley."

He hummed, biting his lower lip. He sent her an up-and-down look as the rest of his family conversed. His plate was empty, unlike hers, so he primarily focused on her. She glanced down at his lips, and how they were being abused by his teeth—and she wondered briefly how it would feel to have them sink into hers. Afterwards, licking them to relieve of the sharp pain. His tongue would be warm—

"My eyes are up here, Princess."

Her eyes flew up to his, widening.

"Don't—call me that."

His brows furrowed. He tilted his head. "And why not?"

"Because it's cringey, Fredrick."

"I reckon you like it."

"What gave you that preposterous impression?"

He grinned. "You're cheeks are redder than my hair, Princess."

Her face tightened. Palms becoming clammy, she rubbed them on her sweatpants—covered thighs to rid of the build up of sweat. She turned away from his piercing stare, looking straight ahead. "It's hot. Not to mention you're practically breathing down my neck. Ever heard of personal space?"

He looked up, pondering for a moment. Then he shook his head. "Nope. Doesn't ring any bells."

She wanted to push him away from her—or pull him in by his collar and have his face right in front of hers. She liked the way it felt when he was near her. It was warm and...comforting in a sense. Like he was homey. But she would rather endure Crucio a hundred times before admitting that aloud. She eyed him with a quirked brow. "Whatever. I'll have a break from you tomorrow anyways."

His smirk grew. "No you won't. Mum's scheduled a family outing tomorrow at..." he tapped his chin, faux thinking mindlessly before sending her a wink. She ignored the chills she felt, "right at the same time you're meant to meet with him, actually. Pissy luck to be frank."

Her brows rose. "Oh really?"

"Really really," he mused.

She turned over to Molly, who had licked her finger and began to wipe away the trickling sauce that slid down her husband's chin with furrowed brows.

"Mrs. Weas—"

Molly sent her a pointed look in warning.

"Molly," Cleo corrected herself. "I was wondering if I could see a mate of mine for a few hours down at the Three Broomsticks tomorrow in the morning?"

Molly's eyes lit up—nodding.

"Of course dear. We're all going down there anyways. You can just meet up with us once you're finished with your friend," she shrugged, picking back up her fork. Cleo sent her a polite smile.

"Thank you."

"No problem hun."

She turned to look at Fred, who's smirk had been completely wiped off his face, staring at her with narrowed eyes. She sent him a wink back, pouting in a mocking way. "You were wrong as usual, Weasley."

His fists balled onto the table. But his face held an unfazed look, calm and cool. "Nott's a pratt. I've heard things about him you would've believe," he countered.

Her head tilted. "Like what?"

His chair screeched as he stood up, holding his plate in his hands, and bent down right beside her ear. No one had been paying attention to him, and she felt a jolt of electricity run down her figure as his lips softly grazed the shell of her ear. There were goosebumps rising across the bare skin of her arms, her throat drying up, as his tone was firm yet mishevious.

"He doesn't know how to make a girl properly finish."

Her cheeks turned crimson as he snickered softly before standing back up straight, walking away. Her eyes stared down at the floor in pure shock as she faintly heard him call out to his mum.

"I'm finished! Gonna go beat some bludgers before I hit the hay."

Molly merely acknowledged him as he stepped out the house, slamming the door behind him, as Cleo was still frozen from his previous remark. It was so....dirty. Nasty. Foul. And yet—it made her feel things. Weird things. Her stomach fluttered at the sentence, the way it rolled off his tongue. She felt a tingle in her core that she tried to soften by rubbing her thighs together, but it was no use.

Fred fucking Weasley had turned her on.

She couldn't do this. She couldn't handle it. Picking up her plate, she dropped it into the sink before rinsing it quickly and jogging towards the stairs. Before Molly could holler something towards her, she stormed up them before shutting the door. Her back leaned against it as she panted, contemplating whether or not she was really about to do this. Lips parted open as heaves escaped her, chest heavily rising and sinking, she finally decided.

"Fuck it," she murmured.

Striding over to the bed, she laid her back against the mattress comfortingly. Staring up at the ceiling, her fingertips slowly glided down her abdomen, where her tank top had hitched up quite a bit, exposing the skin. It hurt. The aching in her core had doubled, due to the pent up frustration from the first day she arrived, and she just didn't give a shit anymore. She didn't care that Fred was her deepest desire. She just wanted to feel release. To cure the throbbing between her legs.

Biting her lip to suppress any sounds, her hand slithered past the waistband of her underwear, and dragged a single finger down her soaking slit. It was embarrassing how worked up she was. Chest pushing out, it ran up to her clit, which was extremely sensitive. She circled around it as a breathy moan left her lips, brows furrowing in pleasure.

Bolts of pleasure shot through her core as her teeth sunk into her bottom lip harder. She pictured the way Fred did the same to his. His pink tongue running over it afterwards just to tease her. Her mind flashed to the sounds he made in the bathroom. He sounded so vulnerable. Raspy and throaty whimpers emitting from his throat.

She added more pressure to the bundle of nerves.

"Oh. Fuck." His moans rang in her mind.

She sunk a finger into her walls, a gasp coming out. She imagined it was his. That he was sitting right beside her, looking down at her with that childish grin, pushing his thick and long finger into her slowly. Her free hand curled around the sheets as she set a rhythm, mind clouded in rapture, as small noises began to tumble from her lips.

"Fuck," she whispered.

Her thumb reached out to rub her clit as she added in a second finger, rocking her hips harder into her own hand, juices flowing down her slit. She imagined his rough—calloused palm pressing down onto her abdomen while the other worked her core in the most delicious way, leaning down to whisper in her ear.

_"Dirty little girl," he licked the flesh behind her ear, working his hand faster and faster. His thumb rubbed circles on her clit as he pounded three fingers into her without mercy, getting her to her high. His hand rose up to her neck, where he squeezed it tightly, smashing his lips onto hers to swallow her moans. His mouth was hot and warm against hers._

_His teeth nipped at her lower lip before pulling away, making her whine, as his hooded lust filled eyes glowered down at her. His fingers turned into a bruising grip around her chin, making him look up at her with glossy eyes._

_"You're going to fucking cum for me," he hissed through gritted teeth. His fingers slammed into hers at a rapid pace, thumb harshly rubbing circles on her clit._

_His lips tugged into a wicked smile._

_"So fucking cum on my fingers, Princess."_

She slapped her own hand over her mouth, the other one crashing her into her orgasm, as a cry tore from her throat. Her toes curled as waves and waves of pure ecstasy washed over her, his dark eyes stuck in her mind as she came for him. She was completely fucked out. Back arched, eyes squeezed shut, cheeks pink. Her body twitched as she rode it out, and when she was finished, her hand slipped out of her sweatpants as she panted heavily.

She was out of breath. It felt like he was really there.

She could smell him still.

She blinked up at the ceiling. Her voice cracked.

"What the fuck did I just do?" She breathed.

>>

The tip of her nose was pink, the color etching into her tan skin, as she attempted to escape the cruel summer heat that scorched down on her relentlessly. Stepping inside The Three Broomsticks, wearing nothing special but an old pair of jeans and a band t—shirt that had the musical name Spellbound stretched across the front of it in big white words, the rest of it a faded and toned red. Her brown waves were tied up in a uncared for bun as a strand of hair fell over her brown eyes, grasping her beat up bag over her shoulder.

Her eyes swept across the busy pub. Ginny had been right. It was extremely busy during the summer—the sound of meaningless chatter filling her ears. The scent of whiskey and spices wafted up her nose as it wrinkled, blinking as she studied the room. Her eyes lit up when she spotted her best friend, sat at the bar, with a butter beer right beside him on the platform. Taking a deep breath, she braced herself before approaching him.

Still unaware that she was there, she took in his appearance. He had on a black leather jacket, even though it was simmering hot outside, with a pair of black jeans cladded across his legs. His hair was damp due to sweat, stuck to his forehead, as he drummed the table in anticipation. Letting out a giggle, she smacked his arm, making him flinch.

His eyes averted to hers. His lips twitched.

"You scared the shit out of me, Doc."

Yeah. He called her Doc—which was his username he had selected for her. The story behind it was pretty basic. Back in year two, Theo had split his hand open while trying to perform a forbidden spell—aiming to turn the cup of water in his hands into vodka. He failed miserably, the magic bouncing right off the glass and hitting him right in the hand. He let out a whine as he cried out curses, blood pouring out of his flesh, but Cleo knew how to fix it. She was used to healing wounds—for obvious reasons.

Long story short, she fixed him. And he called her a Doctor, and made it Doc for short. Pretty stupid tale actually—but he preferred to call her that anyways.

He stood up, opening his arms wide. "Hug?"

"Missed me that much?" She teased, smiling widely. He rolled his eyes at her, although he was grinning like a fool.

"Just hug me dumbass," he muttered, waiting for her to hug him first. She giggled as she wrapped her arms around him, and he did the same to her—his touch warm and comforting. He was the only person she let touch her. She was used to him being around, since he often helped her feel better whenever she broke down about her aunt. But he always waited for her to touch him first—which was sweet. A kind gesture. His palms rubbed her arms as she took in the smell of heavy cologne mixed with the smell of cigarettes.

When they pulled away, the took seats beside one another. He looked at her with raised brows.

"Wow. Surprised you haven't turned full hill Billy yet," he joked, eyes flaming.

She shook her head, an amused laugh falling from her lips. "You're a dick, Theo. But then again—you are what you eat."

One more thing. He was gay.

But no one knew of it except her. She had made a vow to him back in fourth year when he made her promise him not to tell a living soul—not even the ghouls in the halls of Hogwarts. His dad was super traditional and strict, and he didn't want the news somehow getting to him. In his words, he would be "fucked in the ass", which confused Cleo, since she figured it was an odd yet ironic term to use for the matter.

Anyways, she was the only one who knew he was on the boys' team.

His eyes widened, bringing a finger to his lips. "Shut up!" He looked around nervously, fixing his collar before sending her an icy look. "Someone could've heard you, idiot. And then I would've had to kill you."

Her brow quirked. "Oh really now? Then you'd run out of options of people to talk about those boys you fantasize over with," she teased, pretending to think of a few as she ignored the glare he sent her. "Let's see...hmm...there was Adrian Pucey, Blaise Zabini—"

"Kindly shut the fuck up please and thank you."

She grabbed the butter beer from his side, bringing the straw to her lips, before sucking on it lightly. It tasted of melted butterscotch due to the heavy end thick whipped cream that was swirled around at the top, the coldness sending a satisfactory rush over her. It felt nice to have that refreshing sip, until he snatched it away from her, sending her daggers with his piercing yet enticing eyes. "Find your own drink, bitch. This is mine."

She pouted, puffing her bottom lip out. "You know I have a hard time eating. Drinking shit is the only thing in capable of, especially when it's yours."

His eyes rolled, taking a sip himself. "Dramatic ass."

He handed it back to her, making her grin like a child, as she happily took sips. He folded his hands over his knees, tilting his head at her.

She received a mischievous smile from him. One she in fact knew meant it was trouble. "So, have you and Fred Weasley fucked yet?"

She almost choked on the drink, slamming it down on the desk, as she swallowed the liquid quickly. Her hand flew to her chest as she let out a cough, cheeks burning, as she looked up at him with huge eyes.

"What the fuck—"

"You've lived him since first year," he replied nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders. "I figured he liked you back. I mean—I dunno. He seems to like brunettes."

Her gaze fell to the floor. "He's meant to be my foster brother, Theo. I don't like him like that anymore."

"So? It's not like you're actually related," he noted, holding up a sharp finger. She looked up at him as he spoke matter-of-factly. "You're living under the same roof as him. This is your time to grab that dick and—"

"I'm over it," she grumbled, snatching the drink. "Dumbledore told me that if I broke the rules—I'll get sent to this center for criminals. It's not worth it."

In her mind, he was worth it. He really was. There was something about him that made her drawn to him, like two magnets that pushed one another away, but yearned for each other's touch. She obviously was attracted to him beyond imagination, and he seemed to be quite flirtatious with her—but that's all it was. Flirting. But she wanted to drop the subject with Theo, so she mustered up a random lie, swirling the straw in the drink.

"He doesn't even like me. He's made it quite clear he loathes me, Theo. Might as well just give i—"

"Hold that thought," he murmered, standing up onto his feet. Cleo watched him with furrowed brows as he stuffed his hand into his pocket, pulling out a wad of money, before slamming it down onto the table before grabbing her hand. He yanked her up as she let out a yelp, reaching for the butter beer, but it was too late. She huffed in annoyance as he lead her out the pub, and into the heat, where not even a strand of wind had welcomed her. The sun shined down on her as they stood right outside of the Three Broom Sticks.

"Theo—"

"Mr. and Mrs. Weasley!"

Theo intertwined his fingers into Cleo's, making confusion fill her, as she followed the waving hand of Theo. She spotted the Weasley family walking down the brick path, pausing right in front of the duo as Theo stepped forward, offering his hand to the elders.

Molly smiled at him. "Hello. Who might you be?"

"Theo Nott, Mrs. Weasley. Pleasure to meet the both of you," he shook her hand politely, still holding Cleo's with his other one, as he proceeded to land a firm shake to Arthur's. The older man sent him a nod, smiling tightly. "Meeting you is of great importance to me."

Cleo's brown hues averted to the children behind her. Ginny had her arms crossed, face twisted—watching the two with an irritated look. Ron appeared both bored and extremely warm, fanning himself as he stood with a cocked hip. George was playing with the thread on his jeans, twirling it around on his nimble finger, not even paying attention. And then there was Fred. His eyes weren't even on anyone, firmly piercing at the conjoined hands between Theo and Cleo.

His eyes were narrowed into slits.

"Meeting us is important?" Molly furrowed her brows.

Theo nodded with a mere smile. "Well urm—yes. I'd like to formerly introduce myself."

He stepped back, and before Cleo could ask what the fuck he was doing, he planted a kiss on her cheek. Her eyes bursted open at that, the feeling extremely uncomfortable since he was in fact gay, and not even attracted to her, as she flushed. Molly gasped with delight at that, Arthur sending an utterly conflicted look.

"I'm Cleo's boyfriend."

" _Boyfriend?_ " Fred and Cleo shouted in unison.


	7. “Under the Stars”

Cleo was giving Theo the deadliest look, eyes narrowed into daggers that pierced into the side of his skull. Him—however—ignored her gaze as he threw an arm around her, making her cringe, as he shot the ginger-headed family a charming smile. One that had Molly swoop under his spell. "I just wanted to see how my girlfriend was settling in. A new family is a lot of change," he retorted, finally looking over at a furious and conflicted Cleo. He gritted his teeth. "How are you babe?"

He emphasized the last word.

She knew what he was doing. He figured it would make Fred jealous, but she didn't want to be with Fred. He was meant to be her foster brother, and it was against the rules to indulge into her deepest desires with him. She wanted him. She really did. But not in a serious way. She just wanted to satisfy her cravings—and it simply wasn't worth it if she was going to be sent away for it. But if she didn't play along, she would look stupid and desperate—which is the last thing she wanted. So, she swallowed down the curses she meant to spit at him, and smiled tightly.

"Just fine. The Weasleys are—so kind," her voice strained, grabbing his hand into hers. Her nails pierced through his skin making him jump.

He sent her a glare. "That's great, babe!"

"I was told by Albus that no one was supposed to know about you're staying with us for now," Arthur countered, snapping his brows together in confusion.

"I'm sure this lovely boy wouldn't put Cleo in danger, Arthur." Molly smacked his arm, making him jolt, before she sent a hypnotized smile at the duo before her. Her eyes glittered towards Theo. "You seem like such a nice young man. If you'd like, you're more than welcome to join us for dinner."

"Sounds like a lovely idea mum," a deep voice mused from behind them.

Cleo eyes widened in panic. Her brown hues flickered over to Fred—and much to her surprise, he was grinning. His brown eyes sparkled under the sun with a mischievous glint. His elbows rested on George's shoulder, who was also smiling naturally. What the fuck? Did he not like her? He didn't seem to be jealous in the slightest. And at the thought, she felt her heart slightly sink down into her abdomen. But what did she expect? He only flirted with her because she was there. Available at all times. She didn't mean anything to him.

Molly smiled at her son's enthusiasm, clapping her hands. "That's the spirit! Please say you'll join us. I'm making bangers and mash for dinner," her cheeks flared pink, flipping her fiery hair over her shoulder. "I don't mean to boast, but it is certainly my specialty."

"It is a smacking meal," Ron added, smiling at the thought of the food. Beside him, Ginny rolled her eyes.

"You say that about anything that's edible, Ronald."

"He's busy, aren't you?" Cleo stepped in front of Theo, sending him a pleading look. She wished she had paid attention in the legilimency lesson that Professor Flitwick had taught them, because she yearned to secretly tell him to stop this ridiculous scheme. But Theo's brown eyes drifted past her, smiling with his teeth, as his arm tightened around her.

"I am just a sucker for Bangers and Mash. Gravy is my weakness," he smirked over at Molly. "I'd be delighted to come by for a bit."

Cleo wanted to scream. Molly appeared to perk up—face illuminating—as she ushered Theo over to her side. She grabbed onto his arm, telling him her recipe that he used, as they walked along. Wasn't he supposed to be Cleo's boyfriend? Her fists had been balled as she trudged behind them, until she heard footsteps beside her, as they walked down the brick path. Her head lifted up to meet Fred—who walked along beside her. "I thought Nott was just a friend, Everglade."

Her eyes rolled. He sounded mocking but not jealous. This plan was a disaster.

She pushed away the strands of hair that hung in her face. "You don't need to know if I'm dating anyone or not. It's none of your concern, Weasley."

He snorted, shoulder brushing against hers. "So then you wouldn't mind not knowing if I had a girlfriend or not?"

She paused, feet freezing, as the family walked on. She blinked up at him as he stopped as well, lips pulled into a shit-eating smirk—as he stared down at her with a flicker in his eyes. Her brows furrowed lightly. "Do you...?"

His smirk grew. Slowly, he walked up to her, until their chests pressed against one another. He bent down to make sure they were eye to eye, which was a great deal since he was seven inches taller than her, the scent of oranges due to his breath fanning against her face. Her heart rate picked up as he showed his teeth, grinning.

"That's none of your concern princess," he teased.

She blushed at that. He stood back up straight before sending her a wink. "Better catch up. Don't want your boyfriend getting suspicious," he snickered before turning around on his heel, strutting back down to where his family was. He grabbed George's shoulders before slapping his back, embarking into a conversation with him.

Biting her lip, Cleo walked on. When she caught up with them, the only free space was beside Ginny, as they walked past shops. She held a blank look, red brows untensed as her pale face shifted over to Cleo. Instantly, her face tightened, as her eyes flickered. "Urm—hey."

Cleo snapped her head at her, shocked. "Didn't know you felt like speaking to me now. Gonna threaten me again?"

Her tone came out harsher than she meant to. Ginny's mouth twisted at the words, but deep down, she most likely knew she deserved it. What she said was fucked up. Nodding her head softly, her brows rose at the brunette. "I deserve that. What I said was shitty, Cleo. I'm...sorry."

Cleo blinked at her. She forgave her as soon as the words left her mouth, because she wasn't fond with holding grudges. And Ginny had been nothing but nice to her since she arrived. It was going to happen eventually that she would finally snap on her—but when she did—it was simply way over the line. But also...

Cleo was tired of being mean. She didn't have to be sisters with her, but perhaps just acquaintances. Mughals. She'll give Ginny the same respect she puts out. That deemed fair on both girls. So with a deep sigh, Cleo put out her hand, sending Ginny the best attempt of mustering up a smile while sober.

"We were both bitches. Perhaps we can—start over?"

Ginny's face broke out into a smile. Her palm flew to Cleo's, shaking it firmly. "Fine with me."

Cleo smirked. "Definitely not sisters though, ginger-snap."

Ginny giggled as they pulled away. She nodded.

"Definitely not."

>>

"The mashed potatoes is just divine, Mrs. Weasley!" Theo complimented, which went straight to Molly's pale cheeks. They faded into a crimson pink as she waved her hand, shaking her head.

"Oh stop! You're such a sweetheart," she laughed, hand in her chest, making Cleo hold herself back from rolling her eyes. He was such an ass kisser. The one thing that annoyed her about her best friend was that he could literally swoop anyone under his charm, casting them under his wing, with just one flirty look and a flash of his pearly white teeth. Stabbing her fork into her peas, which she didn't even take a bite of, she heard a boy's throat clear.

Fred's to be exact.

"So Nott," Fred took a sip of his water, afterwards setting the cup back onto the table with a thump. He folded his hands which were protruding with veins onto the platform as he tilted his head, a cheeky grin hanging lazily off his pink lips. "Tell me—where did you and Everglade share your first date? It must've been super romantic, aye?"

Cleo's face paled. Her hand tightened around her fork as her brown hues swept over to Theo—who's smile was fading fast. Everyone turned to look at him. Ginny hummed. "You seem like the passionate type, Theo. Do tell us."

"Well...." he trailed off, brows furrowing in concentration. Cleo wanted to hang her head on the table, especially when Fred bit his lower lip to suppress his laugh. And then it hit her. His comment from yesterday at dinner.

"He doesn't know how to make a girl properly finish."

That little shit.

He fucking knew.

He knew that Theo was gay.

And he was egging it on. He wanted to embarrass her. It was his plan. He wanted to get under her skin. No. She wouldn't let him. Gulping, she let out a fake laugh that managed to sound real, putting her hand over Theo's who's at across from her. "Baby, you're so silly. Remember it was down at The Three Broomsticks? That's why we met there today! To celebrate our anniversary, silly."

She was going to vomit. She sounded like one of those sitcom moms. Ugh.

But she was going to play this game.

Theo's brows rose. "Right! Yes! That's exactly what happened."

"The Three Broomsticks?" Fred's nose wrinkled, an agenda hidden behind his eyes. His tone was suspiciously dramatic. "That doesn't down very romantic, mate."

Cleo's teeth clenched.

"Fred—!"

"He paid with his own money. It was a kind gesture," Cleo snapped back, hiding her emotion with a schoolgirl in love facade. Fred's smirk began to vanish as she looked over at Molly, attempting to pull on a look of admiration. "He didn't want to pay with his father's money. He wanted to take care of me all my himself."

Molly's face lit up. "That's so dashing!"

"Aw!" Ginny cooed, eyes foggy. "That's adorable."

Cleo glanced at Fred, smirking.

"I know."

Fred took an angry bite of his mashed potatoes. Cleo's smirk doubled.

Fred—0

Cleo—1

She was in the game.

She should've known that Fred wouldn't back down so easily though. In a few moments, he looked back over at Theo, who's face was beginning to grow noticeably more and more white. Cleo could tell he was beginning to regret this—afraid that he couldn't

pull it off. She was going to kick his ass if he crumbled. Picking up his water, Fred's brows rose.

"Say, Nott—Have you ever eaten cock?" He sipped his water.

Cleo spat out hers, which landed all over the table, as her eyes bursted open at his words. Gasps were heard as she blinked quickly, a pool of water soaking into her potatoes, as she slapped a hand over her mouth. Arthur leaned towards the table with a look of bewilderment. "Are you o—"

"I'm fine," she shook her head, setting down the cup. "I just—think it went down the wrong pipe. My bad."

Her eyes flew to Fred's, who was biting his finger to bite back his laugh. Her eyes narrowed as Theo's face was a scarlet red, words mumbling.

"I uh—don't urm...understa—"

"The rooster dear," Molly provided more context for him, sending him a reassuring smile. "I always make it for Christmas dinner. It's a delicacy in the wizard if world."

Cleo sunk into her seat. When she glanced over at the teenagers, she wanted to face palm herself. Ron was too busy eating to understand what was going on, chewing on two pieces of sausage at once. Gross. George was silently laughing as he looked down at his food, catching onto the scheme. God damnit. And Ginny was utterly confused, brows furrowed and jaw clenched. At least she was oblivious.

"Oh! Uh—no. I haven't."

"Really?" Fred mused, smirking. He leaned back in his seat. "I could've sworn I've seen you suc—eating some one time—"

"It's cold!" Cleo exclaimed, slamming her hands into the table. The silverware clanked as Molly looked at her with a shocked expression due to how urgent her voice was. It was summer. But at night it did dawn harsh winds towards the burrow, so it was the perfect way to get Fred alone so she could decapitate him. She looked over at Fred. "I'm going to fetch some firewood. Can you come with me?"

His brow quirked. "But I'm having a conversation with No—"

"Go help her Freddie," Molly urged, waving him away. "There's some chopped wood right on the side of the house. You know where it is."

Fred rolled his eyes before mumbling fine, as they both stood up and walked out of the house. As soon as they were outside, she grabbed his hand before pulling him into the front yard—where the gentle summer breeze kissed at their skins. She looked up at him in anger. But it was hard to manage. He looked dashing right now.

Red hair messily covering his caramel—colored eyes, pale skin glowing under the moon light. His tall height make her heart spark as a heat pool gathered in her stomach. His hands were shoved into his pockets as he grinned down at her.

She crossed her arms. "How did you know?"

He faked confusion.

"Know what, princess?"

Her teeth gritted. She stomped her foot into the soil. "Stop with the games! I know you know. The question is how, Weasley? I'm the only person he told."

He let out a laugh.

"I spotted him kissing Longbottom back in year four. I wasn't sure if he only liked boys until I caught a good looking couple walking past us, and he checked out the guy's ass. While you were beside him. And you both acted like a stick was shoved—"

"Okay okay," she grumbled, running a hand through her hair. "I get it."

He smiled down at her cheekily. "Why'd you lie about it?"

Her gaze fell to the ground. Her breathing shallowed. "It's..complicated."

"Hmm," he hummed, stepping closer. He held up his hands, wiggling his fingers, making sure she saw him. And then, slowly, very slowly, his hands coddled her cheeks gently. He gave her enough time to protest, but when she didn't, he let them rest there. His tongue darted out over his lips, thumb rubbing her cheekbone. His eyes glinted as his brown hues melted into hers. "You're full of shit, Everglade. I know you want me just as much as I want you."

Her eyes flickered. Hot sparks flew across her chest at his words. His thumb ran down her flesh and swiped over her bottom lip, which was a nice sensation since it was sensitive. His eyes flickered down to her mouth, where his thumb rubbed gently.

"Say it," he murmered. "Say you want me."

His silver, cold ring that wrapped around his thumb pressed against her skin.

She shivered. This was so intense.

He pulled down her lower lip.

"Go on, princess. Tell me. I bet you want me to kiss you right now. Hm?"

His words went straight to her core. It send a flood of arousal to swirl in there as he gazed down at her hungrily. Her voice shook.

"F—Fuck you."

And then without thinking, she went onto her tiptoes before smashing her lips against his. They felt just like she had imagined. Wet and warm. He insanely kissed her back, pushing her face onto his, as her arms wrapped around his neck. It was full of yearn and desperation. She didn't even know what she was doing. His slick tongue ran over hers for dominance as they landed against one another, and in that moment, she felt like her ears were ringing.

He bit her lip, which made a breathy sound emit from her. He pecked it afterwards before pulling away, letting his hands fall from her touch, as she stared up at him. His lips were bruised and swollen. He stepped back, cheeks blotchy, to let her arms fall from his neck.

He smirked down at her. "You'll get more than that once you admit how much you want me, Everglade."

And with that, he grabbed a piece of firewood before stalking back inside the house.

Her eyes were glossy as she stood there. She could still taste him. The faint tingles of oranges on her lips. She ran her fingertips gently over where he kissed her, her stomach fluttering, as she stared at the place he had just been in.

She was totally fucked.

Thankfully, the only ones who witnessed their moment were the stars that lit the sky that night.


End file.
